


Kinda Glad You Broke Your Arm

by Christian_the_bluefrog



Series: Shiping Yourself [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Out of Your Shell, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sparring, Target Practice, Werewolves, You're gay, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 01:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16546586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christian_the_bluefrog/pseuds/Christian_the_bluefrog
Summary: You're a seriously closed off male hunter with a rather sad back story, who has broken your arm and are sent to the bunker to recover. You can't wait to fucking leave.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw a small section of a Dean/You fic, and decided to read a full one. But, there are no Dean/Male Character fics that I could find. As I am male I decided that needed to be fixed. I had to try writing one, and this is what came of it.

"Garth sent me." You sigh and look down at your broken arm. It hurt like a mother-fucker. 

Sam and Dean stand at the door of the bunker, guns lowered. The rain continues to drizzle, and you're soaked.

"You stay here. I need to give him a call." Sam went back inside leaving Dean to guard you.

"What's your story?" He asked. 

"I'm Y/N." You don't like talking about your past, and you probably won't be here long enough to need to. 

"He checks out." Sam called. You follow Dean down the stairs, trying not to slip on the water your dripping everywhere.

"So you're a hunter?" Sam folds his arms as you all stand around the war room awkwardly.

"Yeah." 

"Why don't you go dry off. Bathroom's three doors down on the left." Sam offers. You nod making a beeline outa there. 

There are fluffy towels under the sink and this bathroom is the cleanest you've seen in months. Deciding to forego a hot shower, which you really want- but not as bad as you want to get outa here, you throw on a dry shirt and new jeans; stuffing your wet clothes in a shopping bag before tucking them away in your duffel. 

"How well does Garth know him?" You can hear Dean's voice from the hall and decide to walk a little slower.

You know the Winchester's reputation; badass, mofos who take on the biggest shit that no one else could. Garth had sent you to the best.

"He says that he ran into him a few months ago on a case. Dude had no one else to turn to when a hunt went bad." You sigh deciding to come out. 

The boys are sitting at the table across from each other and turn their attention to you immediately. 

"I know you don't want me around. Garth said that your angel friend- Cas I think, that he could fix my arm and then I'll be out of your hair." You look over at Sam wondering if that was the best thing to say. You shouldn't joke around. You shouldn't get close. That always ends badly.

"Feel free to pray to him, but he's gone AWOL." Dean kicks his boots up on the table. It's a hunter's technique; make 'um think your guard is down. They don't trust you, and you're use to that. 

"Okay... I'm not sure what to do then. I guess I'll call Garth and see if he can find me anoth-" Sam cuts you off.

"We didn't say you have to leave. How bad is your arm?" You look it up and down.

"Hospital bad." Every hunter knows that hospitals are off limits unless it was serious. "Most of the bone was sticking out." You decide to continue. 

Neither of them say anything for a moment, probably waiting for your next move.

"So am I staying or-" You leave the question open.

"There's an empty room five doors down on the right. We had dinner already, but I can warm you up some leftovers." Sam stood. He seemed open enough, maybe that'd help the time go quicker. If he talks, you don't have to.

You decide to just shake your head and walk away. 

When you open the door, a small puff of dust is disturbed and the air in the room is stale. No one has been in here for a while. You flip a switch and hey, at least the light works. The bed doesn't look too bad either. There's a desk and a bedside table with a lamp. This could be nice. 

You pull out a half empty bag of beef jerky and kick off your still wet boots before practly throwing yourself on the bed. There's less dust then you expect, which is nice.

You always carry your own food. You rely on no one and you don't owe anyone anything in return, that's how to keep life simple. Besides you already owe them for taking you in. Why make the debt any bigger.

Just laying down is amazing and before you know it you find yourself drifting off.

 

~<3~

 

The next morning you wake up at six. You've trained your body to do so, consistency is the key to survival. Don't take chances, don't mess around; clean, precise, repetitive. 

You pull out a pop tart and take your time eating it, avoiding moving too fast and hurting your arm. With breakfast out of the way, you make your way to the library tiptoeing in case the boys are still asleep. 

When you see the kitchen light though, you relax a bit. Dean has his back to you, scrambling some amazing smelling eggs. You know he's heard you walk in, but he doesn't turn around. 

"Sam will be up soon. You want some eggs?" He asks keeping his back to you. You're not sure if he's being cold or just focusing. 

"I'm good." 

"Coffee then?" This time he turns around.

"I'm good." You use the same indifferent tone as you sit at the island. You want to ask before diving into the books you had seen last night. 

"So do you filter feed or something?" He turned the stove off portioning the eggs on three plates.

"Or something. Can I take a look in your library?" 

"Go for it." Sam says with a yawn as he makes his way over to the eggs. He grabbed up two plates and sets one in front of you. 

"No thanks." You say, but don't push the food away. You've eaten and no matter how good it smells, staying here is already a debt, you remind yourself. 

"Apparently he filter feeds." Dean sat down next to you and elbows you in the ribs playfully. He's on your right, which is your good side. 

"I'm going to go read." They are paying far too much attention to you and it's not exactly something your use to, or comfortable with. 

When you get to the first shelf you don't know where to start. You're twenty five and though you've been hunting for eight years, there is so much you don't know. You stick to salt and burns, vampires, even wearwolfs, but if you had a library like this it could open a whole new world of confidence to take on more cases.

THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF NORTH AMERICAN MYTHS.

The title catches your attention immediately. You snatch it up and take a seat at the table to dive in.

A half hour goes by in seconds and the other hunters make their way over to you, each with a laptop in hand. You glance up but only for a second before going back to reading about the Jersey Devil, proud of yourself for reaching the J section so quickly. You've always loved to read.

Sam sits across from you and Dean just a chair down. The tension in the room is thick, and though you couldn't care less, you are in their home so you might as well try. 

"Thanks for the room." You say keeping your eyes down.

"No big deal." Dean grunts out, but you know he's waiting for you to continue talking. 

"You guys working on anything?" Again you don't look up.

"Not at the moment. Mind telling us how you broke your arm?" Sam asked. You shut the book and debate exactly how much to tell them. 

"I was taking out a nest of vampires. I knew there were three but I lost sight of one and he got me right before I got him."

"So you hunt alone." It wasn't a question, and you could hear the concern in Dean's voice.

"For eleven months now." 

"So you had a hunting partner. What happened to 'em?" Dean continued the conversation.

"A wearwolf happened. I had to put her down." The last thing you want is sympathy from the brothers, so you keep your tone serious; not upset or emotional.

"I'm sorry." Sam almost whispered across the table.

"Happens." You open your book trying to end the conversation; you're good at hiding emotional pain, but that doesn't mean it's not there or that it doesn't hurt. Dean apparently isn't letting this go though.

"Were you two close, or involved?" You actually laugh catching them off guard.

"Krystal; no, we were best friends. She's not exactly my type." Shit. Shit! Shut up! You tell yourself. You've just gone and outed yourself. If they aren't comfortable with a 'fairy' hanging around, you're on your own again. 

Sam can see the fear on your face, no matter how hard you think you've hidden it.

"It's okay. I had my experimental phase in college; we don't judge." Sam says.

"It's nothing to worry about." Dean adds, and this is definitely all the sharing you plan on doing.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few hours you get through two books, and have started in on a third. Not having to watch your back is amazing. This is the most relaxed you've been in months, and with the focus you have you could get through a few more before bed.

"How do sandwiches sound?" Desn shuts his laptop and stands up stretching.

"I'm good." You turn the page. Dean snatches the book from under you and snaps it closed.

"You can have it back after lunch." 

"What are you my teacher?" You go to grab it back but he tosses it across the table to Sam.

"How about you eat while you read?" Sam tucks the book under his arm, looking at you expectantly. They're being serious aren't they? You sigh and get up, not waiting for them to follow you start toward the kitchen. 

When you get to the kitchen you sit at the island and cross your arms in protest. If you tell them about your own stock they might insist on feeding you 'actual food', and again you reminding yourself that your trying to keep whatever favor they are going to ask after letting you stay, small.

Sam places the book in front of you, but you leave it, instead turning to look at Dean. You can't quite figure out if it's pity or concern in his eyes.

"Ham and Cheese?" Sam holds up the containers and you nod absentmindedly. Dean has yet to look away, and if it's a staring contest he wants, you'll give it to him.

When he finally lowers his eyes he takes the plate Sam hands him and sits next to you. Your plate is slid across the table. They look like they expect you to pick up the book again, but your eyes do need a break and you start to scarf down your food, forgetting that your trying to convince them your not hungry.

"What's your favorite food?" Dean looks over.

"Don't have one." He grunts in frustration.

"If you could eat anything what you want right now, what would it be?" He rephrased.

"I really don't care." You sigh looking him in the eyes, and his face softens. Maybe your letting your guard down because they are too nice, and are apparently set on taking care of you. It's different, and your not exactly sure you're comfortable with it.

"Pickles." If telling him your favorite food makes him feel better; fine. You reach for your sandwich, as Dean gets up and opens the fridge. He places a unopened jar of them in front of you. 

"It's not something I can cook, but we have some." Why exactly was he trying so hard? You're content to read and sit out of the way, but they are insisting on pulling you out of your shell.

Deciding it's worth it you open the jar and when the juice almost spills over, you quickly drink the juice off the top, but you keep going because, fuck that's good and yes it's weird but you can't seem to care. 

Dean laughs and Sam's mouth is ajar, his eyes wide. Not missing a beat you pull a pickle out and start crunching in on it, pulling the book over. They watch you nibble in silence as you read for about five minutes before Dean starts again.

"So are you like this with everyone?" You stop mid bite to look over at the man sitting next to you. 

"Like what?" You almost dare, but Dean isn't backing down.

"Distant, quiet, closed off; take your pick." You slam the book closed with your good arm and stand up.

"You want me to open up? Then fine. I will. My dad beat me, then he left. My mom blamed it on me, and I was on the street at fifteen. I sold myself to get by, and ended up in the backseat of a car with a vamp that Krystal had been tracking. She saved my ass. We hunted together until I lost her. So I'm sorry I don't want to sit around singing Kumbaya and making friendship bracelets."

You had started off yelling, but by the end your voice had fallen. Leaving your half eaten sandwich and the book, you storm off to your room. You are not going to cry in front of them. You shouldn't be crying at all. 

You hold back until the tears force themselves out, but you don't exactly cry. A few tears just roll down your cheeks; doesn't count.

Wishing you had grabbed the book you turn to your bag. You had been starving but you can't even think about eating now. 

You pull out your guns and start to clean them. When you've finished with your shotgun and pistol, you pull out the small collection of knives you carry; silver, iron laced, and a few normal blades. You have nothing else to do and take your time cleaning and sharpening each one. 

 

~<3~

 

Just a bit after seven there's a knock at your door. You debate answering when you hear a tiny shuffle and retreating foot steps. You climb to your feet and open the door slowly. 

On the floor in front of you is a tray with a grilled cheese sandwich, a glass of water and a cup of pickle juice. You pick it up and notice the sticky note under the plate.

 

 

My door is two doors down if you want to talk. I'm sorry for pushing you like that. -Dean

 

 

You want to put the tray back outside. You'll leave tomorrow morning when everyone is still asleep and find somewhere else to stay. It's not like you haven't slept on the street before. 

When your stomach rumbles you huff out a deep breath and close the door, tray in hand. 

The grilled cheese is delicious. There is just the right amount of butter taste on the bread and the cheese oozed when you pulled it apart. You eat the whole thing and down the water. The pickle juice you sip on, as you lock yourself in your head. 

It's something you've done for a while now; almost like forcing the world away. It's you and your thoughts and nothing else. You only come out when the juice is gone. It's late; three in the morning late. Now's as good a time as any. 

You throw your bag over your shoulder and leave the sticky note on the bed after writing on the opposite side. 

 

Thanks- Y/N

 

You open the door as slowly as humanity possible so it wont squeak. All the lights are off but you're confident that you know the layout enough to leave in the dark. 

Right as you reach the stairs a lamp light flips on. Fuck. 

"You're going to leave without saying goodbye?" It's Dean. Had he really been sitting here in the dark? 

You shouldn't feel bad for trying to leave. You wouldn't be their problem anymore, but you do feel bad; like a teenager caught sneaking out. You shrug, hand still on the railing.

"I'm not going to stop you. I just needed to make sure you know you're welcome here." He got up. "And I wasn't waiting for you. I kinda fell asleep out here." He added rubbing his neck in embarrassment. It's fucking adorable.

Shit. No. Stop. Out of the fucking question. 

"I'm not use to staying in one place for long." 

"It's not even been two days." He countered.

"I can take care of myself." 

"I'm not saying you can't." Is he trying to get under your skin?

"I don't like people." 

"Bullshit." You toss your bag down and walk right up in his face.

"Say that again." You growl.

"You don't like getting close to people." He doesn't back down, and you're not sure if your tired of trying or just plain tired, but you step back and suck in a deep breath.

"I'm not going to stop you from leaving, but I hope you'll stay." You should leave. Your are already too damn close to them, especially Dean. 

"Why do you 'hope' I stay? What could you possibly gain from me being around?" 

"Stay and find out." He smiles and turns to head back to his room.

 

~<3~

 

You had gone back to your room last night and when you woke up, you decided three hours would have to be enough sleep.

As you change you notice a granola bar peeking out of your bag. You snatch it up as you finish getting ready for the day.

Almost all the lights are on and you make your way to the kitchen. Dean is at the stove again, but this time he's flipping pancakes.

"Morning, Y/N. How many you want?" 

"I'm good." Your book is still on the island and you just want to grab it and go, but you need to apologize for snapping.

Dean had pulled two mugs out and started to pour coffee.

"How do you take yours?" 

"I'm good."

"Black it is then." He gently places the mug in front of you and sits down across the island. "So I'm guessing that 'I'm good' is your catch phrase." He starts sipping on the steaming coffee.

You just shrug and look down at your own. It smells pretty good, and you're exhausted. 

"You have any creamer?" You say with a sigh. The biggest smile you've ever seen spreads over his face as he jumps up. He comes back with a spoon and a generic creamer. When he sits back down he still has a smile. 

"Where's Sam?" You pour a splash and start stirring it. 

"Out on a jog. He'll probably be back in an hour or so." You nood, and down half your coffee. It was hot but the slight burn woke you up, and the caffeine will keep you up.

"Anything you want to do today?" There it is again, too much attention on you. 

"Mind if grab a shower?" You finish your coffee in one gulp and start to wash the mug in the sink. 

"Sure." You turn around and don't look back at him.

When you finally get to the bathroom and close the door behind you, you take a deep breath and lean back against the door. 

A shower sounds awesome, but it was also an excuse to get away from those emeralds he was constantly watching you with. You've never seen greener eyes in your life. 

You finally clear your head and start up the hot water. This is so much better then the cheep motels you're use to. There is an expensive bottle of shampoo next to a three in one shampoo-conditioner-body wash in a blue bottle. You could tell whose was whose. 

After little debate you steal a handful of the three in one, 'Mountain Pine' scented soap. The other stuff was probably expensive and you had forgotten your own soap in your bag, because Mr. Green eyes had you too flustered to remember. 

You try your best to keep your arm out of the water and for the most part it works. Not wanting to use all the hot water you only give yourself ten minutes. 

Sam's back when you get out and he and Dean are eating pancakes on the war room table. Sam gives you a wave to come sit with them, and you notice your book sitting next to Dean. He's one chair from the end and the book is on his left where the table ends. So you can either take the book and walk a few chairs down or sit next to him. You wonder if he did this on purpose or not.

You end up just sitting next to him and open your book. They exchange small talk about a possible case near by but nothing too interesting for them to be needed.

You finish your book and get up to trade it our for a new one.

"I don't know about you two, but I need to stretch my legs. Anyone want to head down stairs to the gun range?" You do a double take when Dean stops.

"You have a gun range here?" You use your 'oh really?' tone and cross your arms. Dean stands shutting his lap top.

"You in Sammy?" He turned to address his brother. 

"You two go ahead. I'm going to head out to the new farmers market, and Y/N, please be careful. If you actually plan to shoot." Dean turns back to address you, and you have your eyebrows raised in skepticism.

"Come on." 

You follow him down the hall and he goes into his room leaving the door open, almost as an invitation. You decide to stay in the hallway. When he comes back out he has a small duffel in his hand.

"You got any guns-" Dean starts before you cut him off.

"What kind of hunter doesn't have guns? I'm young but that doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to hunt without guns." Dean looks at you and at first it looks like he's annoyed, but it morphs into something you can't quite read.

"-that you haven't used in a while?" He finished his sentence with a smirk. You're surprised at his reaction. He should probably be pissed that you went off on him again. What's with this guy? Is he trying to give you butterflies? 

"My M1912 could use a workout-" You stop mid-sentence because no fucking way. You're trying and failing very hard to not laugh.

"What?" Dean's starting to chuckle too.

"Do you know the other name for the M1912 is?" You stop trying to hold back your laughter. Dean is still chuckling and maybe he's laughing at you but...

"The Winchester model!" You are in a full belly, hanched over laugh. Dean laughs harder it takes a full minute for the two of you to compose yourselfers and you catch him staring at you. 

"What?" You want to be annoyed but the high from the laughter won't let you. 

"It's nice to see you smile." You quickly turn on your heels.

"I'm going to grab him." You say hoping to God he didn't see you blushing. You take your time to let the blush fade before meeting him in the hallway.

"So your gun's a 'him'?" You follow him to a stairwell.

"Yep." You have almost thrown the whole 'keep your distance' thing out the window. No one besides Krystal has ever treated you this way. 

"He have a name?" Dean asks as you reach the second level down. 

"Nope, just him. This place is huge." He grabs hold of a huge iron door and despite how heavy it looks it opens with ease. As soon as the lights flicker on you see a simple but rather impressive gun range. 

The shooting location was about ten feet long with a divider in the middle. The left side had a waist high shelf, while the other side was open, and the range is at least thirty feet back. There's a table to the left set up with ear plugs, ammo, and large paper sheets for you to design your own targets.

Dean walks up next to you and places his hand on your shoulder. You don't pull away instantly, which you normally would. He drops his hand and makes his way to the table with you on his heels. He gently set his bag down and zips it open. 

"Nice." You notice a few you recognize; a nickel plated 1911, a M1887 with no stock. There are a few others below them but you don't want to stare. 

You grab the ammo box that you slipped in your back pocket only to realize it's more then half empty. You forgot to restock because you weren't headed to another case. Dean notices and slides a box of 12 gauge across the table. You try to slid it back but he leaves his hand on it so you can't. You want to push a bit harder but your hand is covering about a third of his and these fucking butterflies are transforming into wasps.

You glance up and he's staring at you, a challenge in his eyes. You give up with a sigh and pull six shells out. He turns away, but you notice the smug smile on his face. He grabs a few from the same box and you playfully elbow him in the ribs like he did you at breakfast yesterday. You realize you're starting to act without thinking and even if it is a small playful thing, it's new. Though not necessarily uncomfortable, surprisingly. Dean grabs a peice of paper to draw his target.

"Didn't think of you as the artistic type." He grabs a black marker and begins to draw a crude outline of a person using a hostage to shield them. 

"I'm not, but normal targets can get old." You take your own marker and sheet selecting a full human size where Dean had taken a half size. You place it on the ground and squat over it, taking your time so you don't fall. 

You decide that you want a few rows of small vampires, as if they were standing further away. You even give them fangs. You notice Dean walk over and you stumble just a bit. He reaches down, but stops half way.

"Need help?" 

"Sure." You probably could have gotten up on your own, but if you fell it might have ment that you couldn't shoot, or you might have let him help because his hands are warm and strong and- No! Stop that Y/N! 

Dean grabs under your good arm and hoists you up letting go as soon as you find your balance. He grabs your paper from the ground and you decide it's not worth the effort to tell him that you are capable of doing it. 

He takes it over to the side with the support ledge, clips it and pulls the rope so it's half way back. 

"Why vampires? Shooting won't do much." He asks as you walk over and pull the cord to take the paper back further. 

"I normally use bird shot not shells. I inject dead man's blood so it coats the pellets. It won't kill them, but it'll fucking hurt and knock 'em back. When you hunt alone you have to be able to take on at least a few creatures at a time." You put in your ear plugs and start setting up your shot. It's different with a broken arm, but it's still doable. You look back and Dean has his ear plugs in. 

"Doesn't the blood coagulate?" 

"Heparin." You take your first shot and it goes right through the first vamp. You turn back and notice he hasn't started any more preparation to shoot. He seems content to watch you. 

"It's a blood thinner, gives you at least a day before the blood clots." You use your good arm to caulk your shotgun, and look at Dean expectantly. He still hasn't moved or picked up his gun.

"You going to shoot or just stand around staring at me like I'm a fucking performer?" You snap and imedetly regret it. You know that both of the brothers are trying their best and you've been trying to get use to the attention they seem to want to give you, but it's still so damn uncomfortable.

Dean's look wasn't angry or even pissed off. If anything it was a more thoughtful, but still a sour. 

"How long have you have anger issues?" He picks his shotgun up and stands a few feet away on the same side. You start to snap to deny it, but that would only prove his point. You look over as he pulls the rope and places his target. 

You make sure he sees you before you take your next shot, it's not just a courtesy thing it can be dangerous if you don't. The shot rings out but you've missed the vamp by an inch or so. You're distracted, mostly by the conversation; but you'd be lying to yourself if you thought it wasn't partly because your paying attention to how close Dean is standing next to you.

"Don't remember." You caulk the gun again and look at Dean whose lined his shot up. He's standing, and you can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. You could shoot much better if your arm wasn't messed up. He takes his shot hitting the person holding the hostage. You look over and he nods for you to go ahead. 

"I have anger issues too. Took me a while to accept it." He paused seeing you were ready and you hit your mark this time, but your shoulder is starting to protest. 

"I know a lot of hunters who do." He says, gun lowered and facing you. 

"Is this a therapy session or shooting practice?" There's no bite to your tone, though you do let a hit of annoyance through. You line up a quick shot, almost like you would have to in a fight and pull the trigger. You bullet hole is half through the feet and half just below. 

"I thought we were just hanging out; having fun." Your shoulder is telling you to slow down. He follows your lead, and does a kind of draw and shoot, no aiming; good result. He nods for you to go and you shake your head. He lines up not questioning you.

"I use to drink my anger away," Bang. "But Sam helped me figure out a better way;" Bang. "Sparing." 

"Uh-huh." 

"Hand to hand, close up fighting. Useful for the job and a great way to cool down." He must know your shoulder is bothering you so he slowly continues to take shots. 

He explains more about how sparing has helped him and you eventually start to shoot again. Between the two of you, you finish off two boxes. Your shoulder will certainly have a bruise, but it was fun and definitely worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

It's been a week since you had shooting practice with Dean. Mostly you've just been hanging around the bunker, absorbing as much information as you can from the books. Dean pokes fun at you for being a bigger nerd that Sam.

"Yes!" You throw your good hand in the air and jump out of your seat. Dean rases out of the kitchen, flour all over his face. 

"What happened?" He skids across the war room floor as you pick up the book you were reading. 

"There is a spell for mending bones!" You start to shove the book into his hands when you notice they are covered in flour. So is his face and hair and shirt. He notices you're staring and you think you can see blush just under the white powder.

"You scared me when you screamed. I jumped and spilled the flour." He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, only spreading the flour more. At this point you don't even try to hold back your crush like thoughts. He is fucking adorable.

"I need a few things. I'll have to run out and get them." 

"We have a whole room of things for spells." That little nagging voice pipes up after he finishes speaking. You're still not the best as excepting things, but at this point in for a penny in for a pound. 

You follow him downstairs and after a moment he leads you into a room filled with shelves. There are jars of dried spices, neatly labeled. Liquids of different colors and viscosity have their own shelf to the side. There's a work bench with several sized bowls, a few mortar and pestles, and several drawers full off who know what else.

You are extremely excited and run to look at everything, bouncing around the room from side to side. When you finally settle down you turn and see Dean watching you with an endearing smile. 

He quickly looks away trying to hide his blush, which is more visible now that most of the flour is gone. You walk over and take the book from him, making a big deal to wipe the tiny bit of flour off of it to poke fun at him.

He gives you a pointed look and you whip around biting your bottom lip. It's official; you've fallen for him. It's going to hurt like hell when you have to leave.

"Three dried sprigs of caraway, two tablespoons of cinnamon, five Pennyroyal leaves, and angelica root." You read aloud and he pulls jars out as you go. You look over all the jars. The last one's label is different from the rest. 

 

Angelica Root  
(Archangel)

 

You hold it up to show Dean who takes it and runs his thumb over the label in thought.

"Oh! Hang on!" You run back up stairs and grab a book off the table then jog back. As you whip around the corner you knock right into Dean. He catches you and you are nose to nose. You find yourself lost in green eyes as you try and catch your breath. 

"You okay, Y/N?" He hasn't pulled away yet and you can feel the heat of his breath on your face. You nod and after one last deep breath, pull away. 

Laying the book on the work bench you flip it open to the A section.

"I found this encyclopedia of herbs a few days ago." You reach the page you are looking for and start to skim over the information. 

"Historically, angelica was thought to be under the protection of Michael the Archangel because it blooms on his feast day, May 8th on the old Julian Calendar. There's also something about him protecting it and giving it to humans to use for healing." You explain.

"That makes a lot of sense." He says as you push the book aside and grab a large wooden bowl. 

"What can I do to help?" He looks around trying to find something to do.

"Actually can you start grinding the ingredients together? I need to get the cast off my arm." He nods picking up the mortar and first jar. 

It takes a few minutes to work your way into the plaster and by the time you get there Dean already has everything mixed together in the bowl. 

"Looks like you could use some help." Again that voice pops up in the back of your mind and you try to squash it down. Letting Dean help you feels almost right. It feels like he's not just asking to be polite, but like he really wants to help.

"Yeah." You hold your arm out and he picks up a serrated knife from a set on the table. He takes your hand gently in his and lays your arm on the work bench. His hands are callused, but not rough; and they are almost delicate in a masculine way. 

He doesn't take his eyes off his work and you study the focused look on his face. His brows are furrowed and his mouth is slightly agape in consecration.

When he breaks through the first part you wince. You knew it would hurt and you didn't plan on letting it show, but you were so focused on the outline of his jaw that you hadn't noticed the progress. 

He reaches out and places his hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N, you okay?" You nod but he slows down the work and you keep your gaze on your arm. Once the plaster is pulled away you start to pull the cotton away, but he nudges your hand, insisting on finishing the job. You sigh but let him finish anyway.

Dean runs his hands up the length of your arm to make sure no cotton threads remain and goose bumps stand out at the light touchs. He pulls the spell book over and reads the next few steps.

"I can take it from here." You start to pull the book away and he takes your hand in his. 

"Y/N, I want to help." It's starting to get on your nerves but you can't say no to those eyes. It reminds you how screwed you are. You let your guard down and now even thinking about not seeing that smile daily hurts. 

You look down and Dean has started to apply a thick paste over the top of your arm. You keep your eyes down because you know he's trying to catch your eye. You feel like if you look up it'll be over for you. It's too painful to see that endearing look.

"Ahhh!" You start to scream as you feel the bones shift and the muscles spasm. He pulls his hands away immediately and stairs down because you can actually see your arm shifting. 

You want to draw it up to your chest but your honesty scared to move it. You stop screaming, but let out a low grunt and take deep breaths. The pain lasts a few minutes, decreasing as the time passes. Dean doesn't leave and inches closer as your breaths shorten. 

"How's it feel?" 

"It's good; great actually." You stretch it out and wiggle your fingers. You look up and notice that there is still some flour in his hair and reach out to dust it with your now healed arm. He laughs and shakes his head with your hand still there. His hair is soft and damn it, he is like a fucking prince out of a fairy tale. 

Then it hits you. You're better; you have no other reason to stay. You went and took any remaining time with Dean away. 

"I'm really glad you're letting me help you." His words pull you out of your head. 

"Yeah well, I guess I'll just add it to my tab." You snap. 

"What do you mean your tab?" You know you shouldn't have said anything. You jump up and start to walk away briskly, but he grabs your wrist.

"Talk to me." He pleads.

"I'm fine. I don't need another therapy session." You go to pull your wrist away but you don't have time before he starts to drag you out the door. 

"Let me go!" You're dragged a few doors down and pushed into a room filled with gym equipment and wrestling mats on the floor. When he let's go he pushes you away. 

"Hit me." He demands after shutting the door.

"I'm not going to hit you!" He gets right in your face, and pushes you back.

"Y/N, you're angry, hit me. Spar with me." 

"This is fucking ridiculous." He takes a slow swipe at you and you dodge it easily. 

"Hit me." He is on your last fucking nerve and when he throws a full blown punch you use your forearm to push the punch away and hit him flat handed squared in the chest. 

It pushes him back.

"Good; again." 

"This is stupid." He charges you and you stick your leg out to swip his leg. He had expected it apparently because he uses the momentum to throw you to the ground. 

With a quick elbow to his ribs you scramble up and it is so fucking on. You both square up and he takes an opening you give purposely. You end up with him in a head lock and he taps out. You let go and you're both breathing hard, but you can tell it's not over. He somehow knows you need for it to not to be over. 

You go several more times, and you have almost no energy left, but you'll be damned if this ends in a tie. You break your biggest rule and wing it, throwing yourself towards him in a tackle. He ends up pinning you, his knees on the sides of your chest, his hands pinning yours above your head. 

"Tie." He pants.

"Who says it's over?" You use the last drop of strength you have to throw him off and now you're on top in the same position. 

"Fine you win." He is gasping and you're not any better.

The door flies open and Sam obviously had something very important to say, but he stopped upon noticing the two of you.

"We have to go; now." He finally gets out after several very uncomfortable seconds.

"What's wrong?" You let Dean go and help him to his feet. 

"I'll explain on the way."

~<3~

 

"There is a wearwolf two towns over in lock up, and tonight's the full moon." The three of you are in the car; Dean's driving, Sam has shotgun, and you're in the middle of the back seat leaning forward to join the conversation. 

"I just got a call from the hunter who was chasing her. She got arrested for assault and if we don't get her out of there people will die. Her pack will come for her." Sam looked between you and Dean as he explained.

"So what exactly are we going to do?" You ask. 

"I... haven't quite gotten that far." Sam sighed as he turned back to properly sit in his seat. 

"Alright; details then." 

You end up making a full blown plan by the time you get in town at seven P.M. and even without the help of the other hunter you're sure that you'll be able to take down the pack and keep the officers on the graveyard shift safe. 

 

~<3~

 

You and Dean both have your backs pressed to the brick wall on the side of the station. Dean peaks to watch as Sam capulets a rock through the front glass doors. An alarm goes off, and within a few seconds three officers are charging out. Sam allows himself to be seen and they start after him. 

You elbow the window next to you, not having to worry about the alarm now. It breaks most of the glass and you use your arm to push the rest out. 

The sound of a rolling office chair gets both of your attention as soon as you climb through. You knew not everyone would leave, and now it's just a matter of knocking the rest out. 

You jump the first and only officer left and all it takes is a choke hold. You drag him to the nearest office, lock the door, and close it behind you.

You open the door that leads to a room lined on both sides with cells; six in total. Dean is standing in front of the only one in use. The girl behind the bars is in her mid-twenties with long black hair. 

She rattles the bars as her nails grow. Her pack would be here in seconds, and you can only pray that those bars hold. Dean unsheathes his silver knife as her teeth turn to fangs. She backs up, probably deciding it's not the best idea to go towards Dean. 

You hear foot steps from the other room; this is it. You glance back at Dean once before turning your full attention to the doorway. The steps grow closer; you pull your own knife out. 

A middle aged male werewolf comes running through the door and you jump into action. Several more join in and as soon as you stab the first a second is on you. Before you know it you have dropped three wolves and there is only one left besides the one Dean has almost killed. 

The last wolf, a younger male, is seconds away from slashing Dean across the back and without hesitation you throw yourself at him. It's not thought through; you didn't have time to do anything but react. You get him away from Dean, but now he has you pinned against the bars of a cell; claws raised to slash you across the face. 

A painful look twisted across his own face and his hand fell limp. Dean had stabbed him in the back. You look up to meet Dean's eyes and smile in appreciation, but suddenly you side is on fire. You loose your balance and fall to your knees, something warm and sticky is running down your back; it's starting to get cold.

You blink and suddenly Dean is leaning over you. Why were you on the floor? You ask yourself.

"Y/N! Why would you do that? Why did you do that?" His words were loud but blurry. His face is fading and your eyes start to droop. 

"He was going to hurt you." Everything starts to fade and you're so tired. You blink again and you're in the back seat of the Impala, Dean is holding you up against his chest.

There's an uncomfortable pressure around your torso, and you notice there's a belt holding a lot of fabric to your side. You look up to ask Dean what's going on, but suddenly your head is swimming. You pass out again. 

 

~<3~

 

The next time you open your eyes is in the bunker. You turn to move and pain shoots from your left side. You wince loudly and Dean, who apparently had been sleeping in a chair next to you, wakes with a start. 

You move your arm slowly and run it down your face hoping it'll help wake yourself up. You look down and you're shirtless under the blanket covering you. You throw it off to investigate the pain. Dean grabs your arm, but it's too late because you've seen the two foot long gash that had been sewn up. 

You search your memory hoping to find an answer as to how you got here. You were helping Sam and Dean with a werewolf pack, and-

"She scratched me." Your voice is gruff and you snatch your hand from his grip to rub at your throat. 

"I should be dead. Dean I'm dangerous. I need to be put down." Your voice is loosing it's crackle and Dean catches your gaze. 

"You're not going to turn, Y/N." You keep eye contact and sit up despite the pain that ripples through your body.

"Don't lie to me. If you can't do it, give me a gun." You feel the stitches pull as you try to get up. Every if you are going to die in the next few minutes there's no need for extra pain. You stay laying down to avoid them ripping.

"I used her blood. It's a cure!" He started to scream and you'd never heard of a cure for werewolves. If there was hunters would use it on them; not kill them.

"Dea-" Your scream is cut off by the feeling of soft lips pressing to your open mouth and you freeze, but only for a second.

You kiss back as fiercely as you can in your current condition; your hand finding his cheek. The kiss ends far to soon, and you're left staring up at sparkling green eyes. 

"What was that?" Your brain is trying to catch up to what just happened. He chuckled.

"A kiss." 

"I know that jackass! Why-" He places his lips over yours again and even if it's annoying his lips are worth the pause.

"There is a cure. We cured you, and I kissed you because your stupid and don't realize how important you actually are. Once you came out of your shell, I realized that you were hiding someone pretty awesome in there." 

"So are you going to do that every time I yell?" You heard what he said, but it is still sinking in and you desperately need to change the topic.

"If you object I won't, but I think it'll be a good idea to help you remember you don't need to yell. I'd really like to keep helping you with your anger issues."

"I don't think I'm going anywhere anytime soon." You lay down on your back as a wave of exhaustion hits you. You hear Dean laugh softly as you close your eyes. There's a gentle kiss on your forehead and the world fades gently away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for getting this far. This is so not my normal type of fic, and I'm not sure I'll do more like this. If you want me to try and do more let me know.


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